


the moonsinger

by sannlykke



Series: Sportsfest 2018 [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire Fusion, Drowning imagery, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 02:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15523884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: it is said of the city that when night falls the good citizens shutter themselves indoors, drown their fires, and wait for the shrill songs and swift blades to pass them by.or: you stay out too late one night, and fall in love.





	the moonsinger

**Author's Note:**

> written for this sportsfest 2k18 br3 [prompt](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/10320.html?thread=1950032#cmt1950032): most likely to be made of water
> 
>  **please mind the tags!** water dancing = there is stabbing involved, maybe, perhaps

**i. through the canals**

 

the first time you see him it is by the purple harbor, where you used to watch ships come and go whilst waiting for your brother to return.

(he once told you many years ago one could see bravos of the past dueling in the canals of the drowned city, were one to venture out at midnight, but you never were brave enough to try.)

it was the noise that had captured your attention at first: the beating of drums from nearby boats, the wail from a mummers’ troupe. all songs you have heard before, and more. but neither the brash loud noises from your peers in the academy, drunken hoots and boorish whispers, take away from what you see when you turn your head:

 

_you catch him in the moonlight._

 

“i challenge you,” one of the men says, drunk out of his mind, saber already reflecting light from the lanterns lining the canals. “draw your sword, nanase haruka.”

you see him touch the hilt of his blade and step aside. you’d have never guessed him for what he is in those plain clothes if not for the easy sway of his body, and his eyes that never leave the water.

 

_you see him move, and then you know: this is what water dancers are._

 

you cannot look away even when the ripples in the canal have stilled and the hoots have died down into insect chitter, unbroken, your feet still planted firmly to dry ground. 

 

**ii. by the sea**

 

once you had wanted to be a corsair like your brother, to know the ways the wind can call your name. 

 

_but that was a lifetime ago._

 

( _i won’t have it,_  your brother tells you after you relay your tale of the canals, but his eyes speak different words.)

different enough for you to shadow him at the docks, at the fish market, at the lagoons, watching the waves languidly crawl ashore. he does not practice with the pupils who have tutors of their own, and when you demand why he only blinks at you as a cat might look at an inquisitive butterfly.

“you don’t need a tutor to dance,” he tells you, with a gaze as clear as the summer sky. “just be the water.”

you watch the foam dissipate as it touches your bare feet, the remaining light of sunset painting the battered shoreline gold. the air is cool and humid, and you close your fist around nothing, remembering the way he holds his sword.  _think of yourself as water._

“then,“ you say, turning towards him. “dance with me sometime.”

 

_you do not see him again for three winters._

 

**iii. on a moonlit pool**

 

you’ve heard the tales a thousand times over by now, even across the narrow sea: that he does not duel to kill, that he shies away from the sealord’s invitations, that he will never, ever agree to be the first sword of braavos, even if a thousand others would step over his corpse for it.

that the night is dark and teeming with monsters, and you, now, are one of them.

“what good is your blade if you can’t use it to kill?”

“show me, then,” he says.

there is no ripple upon the moon pool even as you step upon it, with the salt wind in your hair and a sure grip upon your sword. you can feel the gaze of onlookers over your shoulder as both of you begin to circle, moving through the water as if part of it.

somewhere far off a tempest is brewing, be it real or in the furthest reaches of your mind.  _sink, float, swim._  the moonlight glints off your blade, and you remember your brother’s words.

(and when he looks at you now it is as if for the first time, and you cannot bear the sight of yourself in his eyes.)

 

_you begin to dance, and so does he._

 

**iv. the waves**

 

it is said that every man in braavos is free, but you know this to be untrue.

 

_“did you learn anything today?” you hear your brother asking, from a gentler time._

 

you remember the stories he used to tell: of monstrous whirlpools in the south that could swallow volantene galleys whole, of naath whose very air is poisoned, of the storied riches in yi ti too grand for the eyes of mortals. of drowned men who rise again, and again, and again, bound forever to the sea.

“become the water,” he murmurs, a liquid caress upon your lips.

you reach, towards the moon, or the sea, or the incoming storm, reflected upon the water in your lungs.

 

 

 

_(when you close your eyes you could see him dancing still.)_

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to those people who somehow managed to drag me back into this fandom kicking and screaming you know who you are


End file.
